


Whole Team Buffet

by Stuffy (AlexKingOfTheDamned)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Macro/Micro, Masturbation, Temporary Character Death, Vore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/Stuffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When respawn glitches in a very specific way, it gets Sniper thinking. </p><p>What's it like to swallow a person whole and alive?<br/>What about eight people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whole Team Buffet

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't know, I am vore trash. This is confirmed, there's no denying it at this point honestly, and I'm not ashamed~ If you don't like vore please just take yourself off this page as leaving any negative remarks towards other people's kinks is childish and pointless when it's 100% easier for you to just click the back button rather than read this and/or leave a nasty comment 
> 
> I wrote this lovely piece with http://grosegg.tumblr.com/ so check them out if you want porn, vore and other assorted niceities (please only if you're 18+ though!)
> 
> I'm sorry for the length of this piece! I didn't expect it would run on so long, but we wanted to give equal limelight to every merc and how Sniper treats them individually. If you need to come back more than once to finish this I wouldn't be surprised hahaha.

Getting all of them in one shot was never going to be easy, that Sniper knew from the very start. But he had a plan, and the perfect time to execute it.

 

It started when he first heard about the weird respawn glitch when Spy went through and came out the other side four inches tall. Whispers about it were all around base, he was supposedly being kept as a pet by Medic until he threw himself off the exam table some relative ten stories below to his death and respawned normally again.

 

It got Sniper thinking. He’d spoken to Medic about what it was like to handle a person so small, and he’d been hungry at the time. His mind made a connection faster than the rest of him could keep up-- what would it be like to swallow a person whole? What would it be like to feel them panic in his mouth, kick all the way down, settle heavy in his stomach? The thought stuck in his brain for the next couple weeks, he couldn’t shake it. He even got off to the fantasy once or twice. So he started to make preparations.

 

At first he thought he’d maybe just get one. Spy or Demo maybe, Scout if he could catch him. But then the idea just kept getting bigger and bigger until he was committed to eating every single one of them in one shot. Since respawn gets shut off on the weekends, he’d have to do it on a week night so respawn would pick up his team in the morning. He wanted to eat them, not kill them for good and all. There’d be way too many questions to answer if he did that.

 

First step was getting the respawn to malfunction in the same way. He’d figured out what went wrong through casual conversation with Engie, and was delighted to find it was a simple problem that he could easily recreate; just one specific cord had snapped. With the cord once more broken, Sniper only needed to remain in respawn to ambush his teammates as they came through, because he knew they would. They always did.

 

Scout was easiest to get, he came through respawn in his four-inch state after only a few minutes on the battlefield. He was easily captured and put in Sniper’s bag. Soldier came through next, followed by Demo and Pyro. Engie came in to resupply so Sniper cut him down with his kukri just to save time, and gathered him up with the rest. Medic and Heavy came through respawn together, and then it was just a matter of waiting for Spy. When all eight of them were collected in his bag, Sniper put them in individual jars in his camper -- each of which smelled faintly of piss -- and set them out on his table. He didn’t bother closing them, as none of them were tall enough to climb out and there was no way they’d be able to crawl up a featureless glass wall.

 

“So,” Sniper leans on his forearms, leering over his team all trapped in their jars. “I bet you’re all wonderin’ why I’ve gathered you here like this.”

 

All the mercs responded sniper a varied amount of notice, though a fair bit of tension could easily be spotted amongst the men. Medic chose to simply perk up an eyebrow at the humongous sniper while he tapped on the glass, testing the density of it in comparison to how he perceived it at normal size. Soldier was sitting down with his legs folded lotus style, while Pyro was similarly cross legged, miming a tea-party with guests only the fire bug could see. Spy was currently leaning against the glass, smoking a cigarette and attempting to ignore everything, but internally praying that the Sniper bothered to wash the jars prior to putting him and the others in, though he had the loathsome and terrible suspicion that he did not.

 

But the most rambunctious of them all, by far, was Scout, who was going absolutely mad with being trapped in this stupid jar. From the moment he had been captured and put in there he had been trying to get out, and just almost barley could brush his fingertips against the rim of the jar if he tried double jumping. He deeply regretted not deciding on carrying his Soda Popper or FaN or even Bonk! Atomic Punch into the battle field today, though he doubted that Sniper would have let him keep such devices if he saw him with them. He’d already stripped all of them of their weapons after all.

 

He had paced, tried kicking, shaking, rocking, punching spinning, doing nearly anything that could possibly get him out of that jar, and even now he was attempting to rock his jar back and forth as he looked Sniper in the eye with his own snarky brand of pissed off.

 

“Yeah, you bet my life fuckin’ savings that I am curious on why the fuck you got us stuck like this. What the hell Snipes, I thought we were a team?!” Nobody paid Scout much mind, other than roll their eyes at his jabbering and keep half an ear out for what the Sniper had to say.

 

Sniper clicks his tongue in mock offense. “Course we are, scamp,” he smirks, lifting Scout’s jar to face level so he can look him in the eye. “I’m not gonna hurt’cha. Well, much. Bless ya for volunteering to go first.”

 

“Woah wait what!? Hey! I didn’t volunteer for anything! Lemme go you campin’ creepshow!” Scout wails, pounding on the glass.

 

Sniper chuckles and tips the jar over so Scout rolls into his palm and sets the jar down. Scout is already trying to scramble off his hand, so he grabs him by the back of his shirt and yanks him back down onto his ass as he starts to pick off his tiny shoes and headset.

 

The little Scout does all that he can to get away while Sniper strips him, flinging creative insults and elaborate death threats as he punches and kicks and thrashes and attempts to pull his removed clothing back down; all to no avail.

 

“Since Scout’s so restless, he’ll be first,” Sniper tells the rest. He knows they’re all listening, even if they don’t look like it. He knows they’re all curious. Anyone would be. He turns his attention back to the tiny Scout, dropping his little clothes into his jar as he pries off his hat and tugs his shirt off over his head. “So ya wanna know why you’re all here, do ya? I’ll give ya a hint. I skipped dinner.”

 

The jarred mercs, other than Pyro who is still busy with their tea party, get the hint that Sniper dropped, instantly tensing up a notch and paling in unison.

 

“Woah wait what? So yer sayin’ that you forgot to make dinner tonight? Don’t really see how that connects slim. I mean what are ya gonna do? Force us into little maid outfits an- FOR FUCKS SAKE SNIPER LET ME KEEP MY FUCKIN PANTS!”

 

Scout is obviously too busy running his mouth to make the connection, little hands fighting a losing battle to get his briefs back on. He looks again to the sniper, even more aggravated when he lets the hem of his jock go, his ego remaining just as big as it was at normal size.

 

“There ya go, sport,” Sniper smirks, rolling a completely naked Scout over onto his belly on his palm. He pins him down with a single fingertip to the middle of his back, admiring the length of his tiny body. He’s lithe, slender and narrow-- he’ll be perfect to start with. He’ll go down nice and easy.

 

He lifts his hand to his face and licks Scout from one end to the other, coating him with saliva and delighting in the salty flavor of his sweat. He licks his lips and licks the squirming Scout again, making sure his actions are in full view of the rest of his team so they know their fate. “You’re gonna make a delicious appetizer,” he tells the wiggling Scout, laughing out loud when a fearful expression of comprehension finally dawns on the Scout’s face.

 

The Scout squirms even more when he’s pinned down, not even budging the finger pressed on him when he tries to push up with his scrawny arms. He doesn’t like being knocked around at normal size, so being pressed like this when he’s this small is just plain humiliating.

 

So when the Sniper’s tongue descends upon him he immediately tenses up, spine gone absolutely rigid as the sharpshooter coats him in saliva. He doesn’t even get to say anything more than a couple syllables before the sniper licks him again, coats hair in cloying spit and the rest of him in the cooling residue, and he finally understands just what sniper had in store for him and his teammates.

 

Oh No.

Not this. Anything but this.

“...O-oh. Oh-ho-ho-ho no. Thats a good one man! You ‘aint really thinkin’ of that, right Snipes? Buddy? Ol’ pal? I mean even if ya were you would've asked us before and checked if we were cool with it first right? I mean... I aint that much of a meal for you, all skin and bones and... okay no actually I’m buff as hell... b-but thats beside the point, what I’m sayin’ is that I’m just not edible to you. R-right?”

 

He smiles in a weak attempt to hide his fear, looking to the other trapped mercenaries who make no attempt to reassure the boy. His smile fades as he looks past the finger pinning him down, seeing the sniper’s maw open wide and yearning for him.

 

Sniper dangles him over his open mouth by several inches by one ankle, watching him wail and squirm helplessly. He can’t climb away, he can’t run, he’s absolutely trapped. Just watching him flail has Sniper realizing what power he holds over his entire team, and it has him tingling with pride.

 

Scout immediately howls a blood curdling scream as Sniper hangs him by his ankle, disrupting even the dazed Pyro from their invisible tea party to see what was happening. This has got to be the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to the poor Scout in his entire life.

 

Scout tries doing several things at the same time, which ends up as a mixture of incoherent babbling, trying to curse and plead the sniper not to eat him, explain why he didn’t want to eat him, sobbing desperately, trying to pull himself up and out of the snipers grasp, trying to fight and hurt him a little more, and trying to cover his naked junk; all at the same time.

 

Sniper grins, and releases. Scout yells in terror as he falls three inches into Sniper’s open mouth. The bushman leaves his mouth open as Scout shrieks and scrambles towards his teeth, flicking him to the back of his mouth with his tongue only to feel him crawl desperately back towards the opening between his teeth. He twists his tongue around, his mouth fairly cramped with the four-inch Scout wiggling around inside.

 

Scout yelps like a kicked puppy when Sniper drops him into his mouth, whining and trying to wipe his disgusting hot drool off of his body only to have it coated on even more as Sniper’s tongue thrashes him around his mouth. Scout is full-on crying now, pinned to the stretchy flesh of the bushman’s cheek as he licks every inch of him. The wretched feeling is enough to make him cling and bite to onto the slippery flesh, his voice increasing in pitch until he comes to his penultimate of embarrassment; he begins to piss against the bushman’s cheek and teeth. The only consolation he has now is that he might have made the Sniper’s meal slightly less palatable, and the thought of getting out and getting revenge somehow.

 

Sniper laughs in his throat as he tastes the sharp bitter flavor of a few tiny drops of piss on his tongue. The kid’s so terrified he’s literally pissing himself, but that realization only excites the Sniper more. He reaches down to palm himself through his jeans, humming in pleasure as he listens to Scout sob in terror inside his mouth. He closes his teeth and continues to play with him, pushing him into each cheek and then pinning him to the roof of his mouth to coat him completely with saliva. He needs him absolutely soaked so his trip down his throat will be nice and smooth. He’s already salivating, the inside of his mouth absolutely flooded in his excitement and hunger.

 

His thoughts are interrupted when the giant, slug-like tongue curls around his lithe form and flings him to the back of the Snipers throat, to which he moans out in despair as the hot flesh around him drags him down into the man’s depths. When he finally makes it to his belly the floor is too odd and slanted for him to stand up right, giving him a vertigo which only makes him even more prone to slipping and falling as he tries to feel his way around the dark space.

 

Soldier springs up from inside his jar, ramming his fists against the glass while shouting “NOOOOOO!” in remorse for his fallen teammate.

 

Feeling Scout slide down his throat had to’ve been one of the most erotic experiences of the Sniper’s life. He can feel him scrambling around in the cramped space of his stomach. It’s a queasy sort of flutter, but so unbelievably satisfying. He sits back and palms his paunch, rubbing his fingers deep into the organ where he knows the Scout is panicking, grinding him into the wall of his stomach and flipping him all around in the tiny, cramped space.

 

He laughs when he hears Soldier shout and pound on his little prison. “Do you wanna be next?” he teases, licking his lips for the last salty taste of the boy. He can tell by how his stomach feels now that he’ll be well full by the end of this, probably even showing from the outside. The thought absolutely thrills him as he continues to massage his stomach and torture the trapped Scout within.

 

Soldier immediately bristles up, standing at attention as he gets riled up further.

"YES! I volunteer to be swallowed next! I’ll crawl inside your frail little pansy body and carve my way out through the traitorous petals you call organs! I’ll shove the stalk of your head so far up your cowardly ass you’ll turn into a goddamn carrot!”

 

Sniper squints his eyes in confusion at all the plant metaphors and watches as Soldier tries to crawl up the walls of his container with a newly lit fire in his belly; while the other remaining members of the team are stuck looking at sniper with shock and awe plastered on their faces.

 

Soldier can’t believe Sniper would do this! It’s no wonder that he is kind of a sadist, one has to be in order to even hold this sort of job, but palming himself while sucking on Scout and rolling the choking and sobbing boy inside his stomach just pushed things way, way too far. The one who seemed the least phased so far (other than Pyro) seemed to be Spy, who even then, was absolutely bristled up and making a conscious effort not to look at anything that was happening.

 

“LET ME OUT OF THIS JAR YOU KIWI-PINKO COCKTAIL!”

Sniper chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright then, I won’t argue volunteers.”

 

He lifts Soldier’s jar and flips him out onto his palm, already working on undressing him. He drops his helmet inside the empty jar he just came from, and peels off his empty bandolier, the grenades he’d taken hours ago. To his surprise Soldier is actually helping, opening his own belt and taking it off, shrugging out of his coat. He must really be adamant on carving Sniper, or whatever metaphor he’d been using before. He drops the rest of his clothes into the jar, his pants and boots and boxers following shortly after.

 

Sniper looks Soldier over curiously. He’s considerably hairier than Scout had been, with a lot more muscle packed onto his body. He’ll be harder to swallow, but so much more satisfying when he gets him down. He lifts Soldier to lick the length of his body from his feet up to his face, grinning when he tastes a hint of bitter gunpowder and cheap cologne mixed with his natural salt.

 

“You wanna just crawl in?” he smirks, opening his mouth wide and holding Soldier up level with his teeth.

 

The Sniper doesn’t even have to ask; once Sniper opens his mouth Soldier is already climbing over and through his teeth as he would the walls of a trench, attempting to travel deeper by doing a mix of what seems to be both breast stroking and punching his tongue in an odd attempt to get to the back of his mouth. He isn’t even fazed as he gets coated in the hot saliva and simply uses it to try and slip further in. Of course, the Sniper wants to take his time in tasting each mercenary before they go down, so Soldier ends up getting caught in a vicious wrestling match between him and the bushman’s tongue for a long few minutes.

 

When the Sniper finally decides he’s had enough of his tongue passing around the Soldier’s fuzzy form he flings him into the back of his throat in a similar manner that he treated Scout, the patriot shouting “STAY STRONG PRIVATE SCOUT! IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN AMERICA I AM COMING FOR YOU!” before he swan dives his way into the Sniper’s esophagus, large enough that he bulges in his neck for a moment before going down further.

 

Sniper moans as he feels his throat spread around the wider shoulders of the soldier, his neck visibly swollen from the outside as he swallows reflexively. Feeling Soldier squirm down his throat has his prick pulsing, and he reaches down between his legs again to palm himself a little more roughly as the lump passes his collarbone and squeezes down towards his stomach.

 

Soldier would have gone down whether the sniper wanted him to or not; in fact if he decided to stop swallowing Soldier would have just forced himself down the man’s esophagus manually, pushing himself against the slick walls until he landed in the small space that Scout was similarly held in, who was covering his genitals from the acid and sucking his thumb. Soldier had similar problems with standing upright, but chose to approach the problem with punching whatever bit of stomach lining he could get in an attempt to beat his way out of the rubbery casing.

 

Sniper sags in his chair with a moan, rubbing his hand over his stomach. The space isn’t too large, so with two four-inch mercenaries dumped inside, he’s feeling a comfortable and familiar fullness. But he isn’t even close to stopping now. He sits back to enjoy the feeling of two of his team rolling around in his belly, and when he looks down he can just barely see the tiny bulges of Soldier’s ineffectual fists.

 

He massages his hand into the organ again, crushing the two in the tiny sack against the other wall. Feeling the resistance of their little bodies against his fingers has heat surging down to his cock, and he groans out loud as he rubs himself a little more firmly through his jeans. He looks back down at the feast of mercenaries in front of him, trying to take inventory.

 

Spy would probably be easy to get down, but he wants him furious, and the longer he makes him wait, the better. Heavy is going to be the most difficult, so he’ll save him for last. He’s going to have to do something about the unpleasant rubber flavor that’ll come with Pyro, and he’ll need to work hard against Engie’s broad, soft tummy.

 

He notices the way Demo is looking at him with a mixed expression of terror and interest, so he picks his jar up next. He grins when the Scot falls down onto his ass and backs up against the wall of the jar. Sniper licks his lips and shakes him out onto his hand, and immediately sets to work tugging off his flak vest.

 

The Demoman is breathing hard and fast with his panic, attempting to scoot deeper into the jar as Sniper lays his eyes on him. He is terrified of the giant man above him and he’s literally shaking in his boots as a hand encompasses the jar.

 

It’s like stories about giants the people at the orphanage told him, creatures and demons he would swear he would fight once he got Nessie’s head, though now he had no sword or bomb at his side as he usually did and fantasized about having in his youth; only his slowly unraveling wits about him. “Ach, nae! Have a bit o’ pity on a poor Scot!” he cries, shielding himself with his arms like it would do anything to save him now, and even less so when he gets shaken around.

 

He shouts in surprise when sniper pours him out of the jar, immediately beginning to disrobe him once he falls onto the palm of his hand. This time Sniper neither gets help or resistance on the subject of removed clothes; Demo knows that there really isn’t any use to it at this point and is just stuck staring in awe as he is stripped of his garments one by one.

 

Eventually, the Demoman seems to flip around and gives the bushman an incredulous look once he’s been stripped of his boots and his shirt, sarcastically commenting “I didnae need your help ye know...” whilst clinging to the waist of his pants. The Sniper could probably feel it more than he could see it but the tiny bomber’s skin felt... a tad flushed.

 

The last thing Sniper removes is the tiny eye patch, and all of Demo’s clothes are deposited in the jar. He’s going to keep these jars of tiny clothes forever as a memory of this day. He licks his lips with a smirk as he lifts Demo up to his face to look him over. He tightens his tongue into a rigid point and drags it across the hard lines of muscle on the Scot’s body, tasting his salty sweat and the bitter chemicals he works with.

 

“Yer a beat,” he tells the trembling Demoman, dragging him farther down on his palm when he started to shimmy up backwards towards his fingers. He licks up his body in one long, hot stroke, over his thighs and crotch and up his belly to his face. The springy texture of his hair is fun to play with on his tongue as he coats him in spit.

 

The Demoman’s breath hitches in his throat as the Sniper laves over his muscles; of which flex and tighten up completely as the bushman lays his ginormous tongue over them. This is disgusting. It’s like a giant reddish slug or headless fat worm has decided to take interest in him, now considering him as a meal to add to its girth as it prods its slimy body into him. He wants nothing more to slice it into little thin pieces before running havoc on the rest of the Sniper’s mouth, or even going the courageous route similar to Soldier and carve his way out of the disgusting gangly bushman, freeing his friends from their rogue teammate.

 

But if that’s really the case then why is he starting to get hard?

 

Sniper hears Demo gasp the second time he licks him, right as his tongue passes over his crotch, and he pulls back with a smirk to see the Scot’s tiny prick standing at half mast. “Ya like this?” he teases, lapping at his practically microscopic cock with the tip of his tongue. “See if you like this more.”

 

He drops Demo in his mouth and starts to roll him across his tongue, the top of Demo’s head brushing the back of his throat as he folds his tongue up between his legs to massage across his belly, and down between his legs at his cock to lap up his natural musk.

 

The second lick on his prick gets him going, failing to hold in a gasp as his dick reaches the semi-hard stage and only twitches when the Sniper notices and comments on it. The soft fleshy nub of his tongue catches and rubs across the Scot’s cock, only serving to make his jaw fall slack and him stammer, only to end up thrusting his hips forward reluctantly before he ends up dropped within the sharpshooter’s mouth.

 

Demoman cries out once he’s in there, a noise both confused, fearful, and aroused at the same time. He tries to rush away on instinct, to climb out and push away the tentacle forcefully pressing itself to the Scot’s body. He sucks in a hiss as it begins to travel lower, playing with his pecs and his obliques before trying to wriggle its way past his abs and to his belly button – all before making its way to swirling around, pushing and rolling his dick around; which by this time has grown fully hard and is now leaking.

 

Demoman moans out as the sniper plays and teases at his length, forcing him to fuck the trench between the sections of his tongue. Attempting to stifle himself and save what little dignity he has left in front of his teammates he grits his teeth, though it does nothing to stop the flow of tears dripping out from between his tightly squeezed eyelids. “Mum, if you somehow find out about this, please forgive me,” he whimpers as he grabs the Sniper’s jagged teeth in an attempt to get some leverage as he bucks forward, choking and sobbing as he gets closer to the edge.

 

Sniper’s eyes are hooded in bliss, and he opens his belt so he can tug out his cock and stroke himself in time with the thrusts of Demo’s tiny hips. He can feel his prick slotted into the frenulum of his tongue, his hands gripping his canines like a fence as his upper body hangs out of his mouth and his lower body works himself closer to orgasm.

 

He feels Demo tense up and tastes the salt of the tiny drops of his come, and he tips his head back, flipping his tongue so the exhausted Demo slides to the back of his throat. He feels his feet dive right down and he swallows, his throat providing a fair amount of resistance around his wide shoulders, but Demo is too tired and ashamed to fight it.

 

The Sniper’s throat bulges visibly again as he gulps, saliva washing down with him and making the way slick and hot as he takes his time swallowing him down. He strokes the bulge in his throat, feeling Demo wiggle weakly within, and then he’s squeezed down past his collarbone and the chute down to his stomach is a straight shot.

 

It’s getting pretty cramped in there, with three little people pressed into a space the size of the Sniper’s first. He can definitely see the little ripples and bulges of Soldier’s continued wimpy attacks now, and he pulls the back of his shirt so the front is taut across his belly so he can watch them roll around in his stomach.

“Gorgeous,” he growls, his free hand still tugging his prick as he presses his fingers into the rolling organ the same as before, pressing everyone together and crushing them into the plush, fleshy walls of their prison.

Scout had just finished complaining about Soldier continually elbowing him in his fruitless attempt to help them escape when Demoman slides right on in, giving Scout a new thing to run his mouth on about when he finds the space he inhabits even more sparse and tight.

 

The result of the lack of space means that Soldier has less space to punch with, but is nevertheless enthusiastic to see (or at least perceive; it’s impossible to see in the snipers dank stomach) that his friend has joined him in the quest to free Scout! He encourages Demoman to join him in punching his way out, but all Demo does is try to wriggle his way beneath the two in the small space, too spent and humiliated to do much of anything other than act as a pseudo flooring for the current residents of Sniper’s belly and soak in the tingly stomach acid slowly beginning to pool.

 

Meanwhile, outside of the Sniper’s body, the Pyro has returned to having invisible tea and biscuits with Mrs. Sunshine and the wonderful Balloonicorn! They are all really small now but it’s a good thing because it means that they can share all the tasty invisible jam they want. Pyro scolds Mrs. Sunshine (see; a happy sunflower) through a series of muffles through their mask, telling them about the value of sharing hats and biscuits and propane.

 

But wait... what’s that thing out in the distance? It looks.... fun! Oh and its coming to pick Pyro up and out of the jar! Looks like Pyro will have to finish teaching Balloonicorn and Mrs. Sunshine the value of sharing another day! Thats ok! Pyro is sure that they’ll use the gun and weapons training they gave the two of them prior to good use and to maintain their friendship.

 

In the Sniper’s perspective, the ‘Mmph’ing Pyro tumbles out of the glass container, landing up on their butt before looking up at the Sniper, cocking their head to the side like the terrifying enigma they are.

 

Sniper considers stripping the Pyro, but they’ve always gone to such great lengths to keep intentionally hidden from the rest of their team. They’ve found the firebug showering in the public showers fully suited just to be able to spend time with their team, and he assumes that the lenths they go to in order to stay hidden is a very personal and very intentional choice. There are certain members of his team that Sniper wants to debase and humiliate, but the flame throwing kid isn’t one of them.

 

“Hey, you ever been a cupcake before?” he asks the Pyro as he glances over to his fridge where he remembers he has a half-empty tub of frosting from his birthday a few months ago. He’s never been too fond of cake, always preferring the icing on top, so when his birthday rolled around and he found himelf at the market for milk, he got himself a tub of icing with a little sprinkle packet just for fun, and ate out of it with a spoon.

 

Pyro seems immediately intrigued by what the Sniper has said, and holds onto his fingers as the bushman opens his tiny fridge and pulls out the tub of icing. “How’d you like to be a cupcake?” he lowers his hand and Pyro doesn’t hesitate to jump directly into the tub. Some of the icing is stained black from soot on his suit, which probably isn’t the best thing to eat, but the amount that’ll actually wind up in his system from the tiny firebug will be negligible.

 

He plucks Pyro out of the icing tub only a few moments later and peels off their belts and suspenders, boots and gloves, so the only things he has to get down are the mask and suit, which shouldn’t be a problem with the amount of icing heaped on the Pyro. He peels back the foil over the lid to reveal the rainbow sprinkles inside, and he pinches them out over the Pyro so they’re decorated with bright colors.

 

“Everyone else is gettin’ ready to have a party in me,” Sniper smirks, lifting the Pyro again to face level. “And you’re invited. Care to join them?” he opens his mouth wide.

 

Pyro raises a hand to wipe off the fosting covering their tinted optical goggles, and then immediately claps and happily squeals when they see the Sniper opening a crazy looking vial of Magical Sprinkles! Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy! Sniper really wasn’t holding back on turning them into a cupcake! They already looked great with the new coating of Delicious Icing Paint covering them up but now they were gonna look even prettier with all those sprinkles of gumdrops and sugary bites and lollipops and candy!

 

As the Sniper dumped the sugary sprinkles over the little firebug they rubbed the seasoning all over their body like they were under a shower hose, though it more or less just meant smearing one glob of icing to another part of their body and encrusting the crunchy candy coating into the slowly drying icing.

 

In Pyro’s perspective, however, they were becoming even more magic and beautiful! They were getting a whole ton of buttons of varying shape and color and size all along their upper arms and their coat of paint started to take on beautiful patterns and motifs, including puppies and kittens sharing cookies and milk, rainbows of licorice and butterflies made of butterfingers all fluttering around! The only way they could make this better if they had their Rainblower so they could make everybody even happier!

 

When the Sniper opens his mouth the Pyro cheers, raising their arms up and beginning to move their arms like they are on or are a train; even making “chugga chugga” and “choo choo!” sounds past their mask and miming the actions that fit. They were so ready for this fun ride that Sniper had ready for them, this was gonna be fun!

 

The cloying sweetness of the frosting entirely drowns out any bitter flavor of the rubber, and Sniper wastes no time nudging Pyro to the back of his throat. He doesn’t want to lick all the frosting off and taste the rubber beneath, so there’s no point in lollygagging. He feels Pyro’s hands lift overhead like they’re on a roller coaster as their feet dangle off the back of his tongue.

 

Tipping his head back, he takes a slick swallow, the saliva in his mouth that reacted to the frosting coating his throat as the Pyro is squeezed down his esophagus. The fit is tight, the suit bulking them up unnecessarily in his throat. It takes a few swallows to work the firebug down past his sternum, where they finally plummet down the last few inches and land in his overcrowded stomach.

 

He groans, his belly feels very full now. The space is very cramped, limbs moving all around inside him in varying levels of tiredness. He hears Soldier’s muffled voice congratulating Pyro on coming to assist in the rescue mission as well, clearly unaware that not everyone else was as willing to crawl down into his body as he was himself.

 

Sniper leans back and palms his stomach, looking down to see it’s just slightly more curved than usual. The organ is stretched to accommodate four tiny people, each more or less the size of an unchewed hot dog bun and all, so it’s no wonder he’s feeling so full. He resists the urge to burp because he doesn’t want them to suffocate just yet, he’s enjoying the feeling of them squirming around inside him.

 

He licks his lips and swallows down a mouthful of frosting-sweet saliva, humming in pleasure as he massages his stomach in the same manner he has been, and strokes himself with his other hand as he takes a moment to enjoy the full feeling. But he’s jarred out of his relaxed state when he hears a tiny voice “a-hem” below him. Looking down, he sees Medic already naked, his clothes all removed and folded in the jar beside him.

 

“What?” he blurts, confused as he stares down at the tiny mercenary, leaning over the jar to peer down at him. “I take it you want to be next?”

 

The little medic smiles cheerfully up at his giant teammate, adjusting his glasses in the process. “Vell, if zhat’s the way you are going to put it, zhen yes! I am ready and villing.” His cheerful grin turns a little darker (and slightly lustful) when he looks up at the man, not a single shred of fear in his face “...under the condition you let me do a little bit of... my own investigative research before you swallow me.” Medic folds his arms and begins to pace around the small space of the jar, listening to the distant moans and groans coming from within the Sniper’s slightly rounded stomach, a special sort of interest percolating from the sounds of their combined discomfort and despair.

 

He figures that if the Sniper decides to disregard his request and swallow him down regardless it will end up turning out badly for him. Even if the medic is comically small and without his trademark bonesaw he could still do a heavy amount of damage just by being put near his lungs or simply stuck in his neck, due to his deadly knowledge of the human anatomy.

 

The Medic’s smile goes back to cheerful when he turns back around to face the bushman, though that mixed look of lust, dark intentions, and wonder has not left his eyes. “All I ask is zhat you provide me with a moment to investigate the swell of your stomach from the outside, so zhat I can compare how cramped it is on the inside, and a closer look at your oral features. Let me do those things, and I vill behave.”

 

The Medic is actually pretty excited for this; to the degree where his teammates in the other jars have started to stare at him funny, and yet still he is unfazed. But in what ordinary day does he get to be swallowed alive and take such up close notes on what the human mouth looks like! No matter how he looks at it it’s just another chance for him to do science.

 

Sniper shrugs and gives a cheeky smile. “Don’t see why not,” he says, sticking a finger into the jar for the Medic to hold onto so he doesn’t mess up his perfectly folded clothes by tipping him out of the jar. He sets the Medic on his shoulder and starts to unbutton his uniform shirt, where the buttons have just started to pull across the crest of his belly. He slouches a little farther in his seat so his stomach is closer to a horizontal plane, and then scoops up the naked Medic to set him down on his slightly squirmy belly.

 

“Like what you feel?” Sniper chuckles, watching the Medic struggle not to fall off from all the kicking and wiggling going on inside. He cups his hand to the edge of his belly to catch the Medic in case he falls, a tumble from this height to the floor would definitely kill the tiny doctor. “Maybe you’ll be doin’ this to the team next, eh?”

 

The Medic giggles and laughs as he stumbles on the sniper’s wriggling stomach, having a hard time keeping his footing as everybody groans and complains about the Medic walking on them; particularly Scout, who surprisingly has enough energy to whine and complain even when he’s tired from a lack of proper oxygen and trapped in a dark cramped stomach with three other people.

 

Eventually Medic simply opts to lay on his belly and feel all the movement inside of the sharpshooter against his body. He gives the Sniper’s belly a squeeze with a sigh, burying his face into his soft body hair and the layer of skin, muscle and a thin layer of belly fat separating him from his struggling teammates. If only he could conduct his experiments like this; handling a heart or an uber device at this size would be amazing.

 

Though, what would also be amazing would be to feel Sniper’s belly with the rest of his teammates stuck in there, or maybe even the entire enemy team or both if the Snipers limits could handle that. Maybe he could even make it so his stomach is more elastic himself.

 

The Medic frowns when the Sniper takes him out of his thoughts, looking up to him with a perked eyebrow. “I do not think zhe team would be very villing to try zhis experiment again anytime soon, and even if I did manage to catch them I may not get zhe quality of results zhat I am looking for—” somebody sighs in relief, possibly thankful that Medic of all people won’t be trying this out any time soon, “—Though, zhis opportunity is very... interesting to say zhe least. It’s got me thinking about my own methods anyway.”

 

The Medic begins idly wondering in his mind about how deep the sniper’s belly button goes, even with it being all stretched out with so many people inside of it. He then moves his fingers over to it, sinking them down as deep as he could get them to go until the Sniper feels a sort of fluttering sensation in his cock. It may not be the sensation the Sniper is looking for, however, which may prompt him to take the medic away early.

 

“Fuck!” Sniper curses, his dick jumping between his thighs in surprise. He gasps and bites his lower lip, groaning as he palms at the cramped part of his stomach, a burp rumbling out of him involuntarily. He feels the people in his belly panic, so he swallows down a single gulp of air for them and their struggles calm down a bit. His sunglasses slip down his nose as he gazes down at Medic, watching him-- for lack of a better word -- fist his belly button.

 

“That’s good... fuck, why’s that good?” he groans, tipping his head back. He’s never paid much attention to his belly button, but by thunder now he’s going to be. It doesn’t feel too far off from prostate stimulation, it pulses in the same place in his cock, it’s hot and feels almost itchy, but in the best way possible.

 

He stares foggily back down at Medic, licking his lips. His mouth has started to salivate, excited for the prospect of what tricks he’ll be pulling inside his mouth. He swallows, dumping another mouthful of hot, sticky saliva on the heads of all the people trapped in his stomach.

 

Everyone in his stomach gives a shout of complaint as a splash of saliva pools by them all, enough to make the poor shaking Scout choke enough to actually vomit up—luckily onto the stomach wall rather than anyone else. It’s enough to get the attention of even Soldier, who instead of responding with a snide remark on the Scout’s masculinity, actually shows a strain of empathy for once and asks if the boy is alright.

 

Scout merely responds with a tired wave of his hand, to which the Soldier returns to attempting to bore his way out yet again, of which has now died down into doing nothing much more than massage and occasionally bite the Sniper’s stomach from the inside. Pyro offers Scout a bit of their icing coating in consolation which is swiftly refused, and Demo pats what he thinks is Scouts foot before he goes back into his catatonic state; simply trying to forget that this day ever happened.

 

“Hmm! You seemed to have enjoyed zhat quite a bit! I guess the theories are true!”

 

Outside of Sniper’s stomach, Medic flares his fingers and pushes his hand a little deeper, a big toothy grin growing upon his face. He had read about the stimulative properties of belly buttons before and had hypothesized and made concepts of making a sort of probe to see if such claims reigned true or not... and now he guessed he found his answer! The answer with his entire hand stuck in another man’s belly button, with several people groaning and writhing beneath him, all while he’s four inches tall, laying on the body of a man he currently has on his whim.

 

The Medic slowly reaches his hand down and begins to grab for his rising cock, concepts and ideas flashing through his head like charged lighting. He continues to fuck the sharpshooter’s belly button, pulling his fist in and out rhythmically before a thought crosses his mind; what if he stuck his own cock in there?

 

When the Medic crawls across his belly and straddles his belly button, Sniper rolls his eyes and plucks him up by the waist. “Alright that’s enough playing, you little morsel,” he says, taking the tiny glasses off Medic’s face and dropping them on top of his folded clothes in his jar. “You’ve got a mouth to inspect, haven’t you?”

 

He sticks his tongue out and drops the tiny doctor onto it, leaving his mouth open wide for optimal lighting while the Medic crawls around to play with his mouth. Saliva drips down his chin and neck, but he doesn’t pay it any mind as he feels the doctor touch the inside of his mouth all over. He keeps his tongue rigid and sticking out of his mouth so the German has more room to move around in the cramped quarters of his mouth.

 

Feeling tiny hands on his gums and teeth is way more erotic than it should be. He groans in pleasure, icing-scented breath washing over the Medic. He can hear the shouts of everyone in Sniper’s stomach from his throat, pleads with the bushman not to force any more people down into the tight space, but Sniper will of course ignore them. He’s looking forward to feeling Medic wiggle on the way down.

 

Medic fights a little bit when he’s taken out from his play with the Sniper’s belly button, but relaxes soon after as he remembers that he can just continue what he was doing later, when the thought around to try coaxing Sniper into it comes around again. He stands on Snipers tongue with his hands on his hips, cock at full mast even though he’s disregarding it—at first anyway. He wants to actually look at some things before he satisfies his own desires; like how sensitive his soft palate is compared to his hard palate, the decay of a mouth that has been smoking for at least a few years, and if he can stimulate the sniper’s salivary glands, causing a little squirt of the liquid to spurt out from his tongue when Medic confirms.

 

However, the begging and pleading haunt Medic through his whole checkup, only causing him to be constantly aware of the fact that he’s hard and that he would like to get off before he’s trapped in his stomach with those other four buffoons. Medic takes his cock in one hand and the tip of the Sniper’s tongue in the other, leading it to the cleft of his ass cheeks which he soon spreads. The effect is instant and medic has to try to grab onto something in order to stop his knees from giving out, but god... it’s just so good!

 

He doubted that he could be able to actually fit the damn thing into him, not unless he really stretched himself prior, but even so the feeling of the Sniper’s oversized tongue lapping and stretching and swirling around his asshole and rubbing against his premium and balls and the shaft of his dick... all at once, almost interchangeably... if that wasn’t getting him hard as a rock then the setting inside the Sniper’s mouth and the pained moans from within his belly did.

 

Eventually, just as the medic was getting close, he lost his footing on the Sniper’s slick tongue and slipped, launching his body halfway down the Sniper’s throat. The medic gasped as he felt the absolute tightness surround him, attempting to pull his body out to no avail, feeling the cling and pull as sniper instinctively tried to pull him deeper and, subsequently, pulled and pulsed around his dick. Its no length to say that the Medic soon comes after being lodged within the Sniper's throat.

 

Sniper groans loudly around Medic in his throat and really takes his time, breathing through his nose past the few gaps between the German’s limbs, feeling him squirm in his throat. He wants to feel him slide down on his own without any help from him, he wants to see how far he’ll get before Sniper has to swallow to help him down. Saliva runs down his throat as he tips his head back, slicking the way as the Medic slips slowly deeper.

 

Sniper’s throat is bulging again from the outside and he pets the lump, stroking in and humming in pleasure, wrapping his hand back around his cock to stroke leisurely. He’s so aroused he can hardly stand it, his prick pulsing in his hand as he tugs it gently. He doesn’t want to get off too soon, he still has three of his teammates to go.

 

Medic gets officially caught at his sternum, and it only takes one powerful, slick gulp to send him shooting down into Sniper’s belly with the rest. He groans aloud when he feels the organ stretch to fit another person, the muscle is now definitely packed end to end with mercenaries stacked on top of eachother from floor to ceiling. Sniper’s stomach is visibly bulging now, more than twenty inches of human forced into a space that’s at most nine inches squared. He massages his belly, his hand speeding up on his cock now, delighted by the feeling of everyone crowded inside.

 

He’s snapped out of his reverie by a sudden clanking noise and his eyes pop open to see that Engie had somehow managed to knock over his jar. Sniper’s hand comes down hard on him, flattening him to the table mid retreat, knocking the wind clean out of him as he lifts him off the table by the strap of his overalls.

 

“There’s no gettin’ away on my watch,” he growls playfully, licking his lips as he starts to pull off the Engineer’s clothes. His stomach is full, nearly aching, but he’s going to finish what he started.

 

Engineer, in contrast, doesn’t say much of anything, other than a few stuttering complaints to “go easy slim” when the sniper gets rough with him. Damn. If only he bothered to wear his gunslinger today; then the Sniper wouldn’t be touching him with a ten foot pole, less he tear a hole down the Sniper’s esophagus as he makes his way down to his over packed, painful belly or shatter and break his teeth with a single punch. That might be fun, but it ‘aint what he’s getting today, so he might as well go with it, try to make this go as fast as it can for him so that he can respawn.

 

Its only when he’s being dangled by his feet, staring down the Sniper’s maw does he get an idea; one that could free everybody in the oversized bushman’s stomach and teach him a lesson at the same time.

 

Engineer whistles slowly, assuming a more cocky stance, or at least the most cocky you could get while being a tiny version of yourself that is stripped naked and now dangling over the mouth of your colleague that is about to eat you. “Partner, you are about to make a very, very bad decision, if you try and eat me, yer gonna regret it.”

 

He tries to stare the Sniper between the eyes rather than at his uvula, hoping to not give him a clue about what he was thinking of doing.

 

Sniper snorts with laughter. “Oh, right, you gonna give me a belly ache? I’ve already got one, ain’t gonna stop me.”

 

Without another word, he drops the Engineer into his mouth. He delights in the curse he gets out of the Texan when his head hit his teeth on the way inside, and he immediately tips his head back to slide the Engineer to the back of his throat. Engie isn’t one he wants to play with as much, he really wants to get to Spy next so he can really torment the spook, he just needs to get the Engineer down first.

 

He gags though when there’s a bit of resistance, and he feels the Engineer’s hand close around his uvula. His whole stomach tenses up as he gags again, more powerfully, enough that some acid washes up his throat and into his mouth, which he swallows back down with a sickly groan. He tries to swallow the Engineer, but he’s held fast to his uvula, even with his legs pressed down his throat.

 

Sniper groans in discomfort as he feels his uvula being massaged and tugged like Engie’s trying to milk it, it’s making him reel with nausea. He moans and rubs his stomach, trying to get the nausea to pass as he gulps weakly at the Texan’s legs, trying to get him down his throat and spare him this uncomfortable sensation.

 

“Got anythin’ to say now slick?”

 

The Engineer sneers within the Sniper’s mouth, even though he can’t see him and he has his legs trapped in sniper’s neck. He can feel it irregularly pulse around his lower half as he grabs and teases the soft drop of flesh that was currently his tether to the outside world, both holding on to attempt to get the sniper to vomit and to make sure he doesn’t fall down into the man himself. Eventually he either pulls himself up or pulls the punching bag of a uvula down enough that he can wrap his arms around it in a tight embrace, smirking when Sniper doubles over in the sickness wracking him.

 

“Or are you too busy holdin yourself together to bring up any words? Come on, spew em’ out. I wanna hear what you have to say now!”

 

Down in the sniper’s stomach the already cramped space begins to tighten and tense with the bushman’s nausea, the organ they are residing in preparing to shoot them all back up his throat in attempt to dislodge the irritant on his uvula. While that may be a good thing in general its resulted in many of the trapped mercs to lose their wind; particularly Scout, who has been hyperventilating all this time.

 

The Engineer grins wide when he is able to free one foot from a harsh gag, but ends up losing his grip on the flesh he’s holding. He regains his hold but it’s harder to hold on by the nub than it is to hold on by the tether keeping it on the roof of the sniper’s mouth, and he was never the kind to be able to climb very well anyway; he always had a hard time pulling himself up the rope in gym, and even moreso now that sniper has started to try swallowing him again, now with more gusto.

 

As soon as Sniper feels that hand slip, he gulps. Swallowing is hard right now, when all he wants to do is chunder everything out of his stomach. The nausea rolls through him, gripping his belly and choking him around the throat, which is already full of half a Texan. Swallowing amplifies his nausea, but he has to get the little bugger down.

 

He gulps harder, he feels the Engineer’s hand slipping. He grips his throat and massages it, trying to jostle him around, and then he feels that grip slip altogether and he gulps hard before Engie has a chance to scramble for it again. He groans and his cock jumps as he feels the Texan shoot down his throat. It’s a tight squeeze past his sternum but then he’s packed into his overfull stomach with the rest, and the nausea starts to settle.

 

Sniper groans and slumps in his seat, rubbing a hand over his full belly with a moan. He’s so full, his stomach is bulging and rippling with the mass of squirming limbs inside. Everyone is panicking with how tight they’re being packed in, sooner or later someone is bound to be crushed to death it’s getting so cramped. He can definitely see the rolling jabs and punches of panicking limbs jutting against his skin.

 

“God,” he moans again. His stomach is absolutely packed, the thought of swallowing two more-- especially one as big as Heavy -- has his stomach clenching again in nausea. He’ll have to take a short break, the perfect time with which to torture Spy.

 

He tips the frenchman out of his jar, but he doesn’t start stripping him right away like he did all the others. He wants to ruin that overpriced suit he wears all the time. Lifting him right to his face he licks across his body, the taste of cotton and cologne bitter on his tongue. “You taste like grandma’s house,” he sneers, dropping his hand down to his cock with Spy in it, wrapping both his fingers and Spy’s body around his prick.

 

The Spy had been waiting all this time, getting increasingly anxious and at attention to the Sniper’s terrible behavior for every merc he slurps down. His jaw is slack and his tiny little cigarette has long rolled off his lip now, settling near his feet in a minuscule pile of ash. He attempts to trap himself in the jar when Sniper comes for him, sticking out his arms and legs do he doesn’t fall through the neck of the container, but it’s to little use as all sniper has to do is jostle the jar around a bit before he slips and falls out. After taking a moment to get his wits, the Spy looks up at the Sniper, beating his own tiny little fists against the snipers giant hand.

 

“Unhand me you disgusting backwoods pig!” Spy cries as he’s lifted up to the bushman’s face, leaning as far back as he can and verbally announcing his disgust through a grossed out shout as licked, hours of delicate pressing and laundry care ruined by a hot wash of saliva. He puts his hands to the bushman’s upper lip as he tries to push away, shooting a glare and sputtering at the Sniper’s remark about his taste. “Oh really? Well I’ll beg your pardon, if you would ‘ave told me that you were a psychopathic cannibal freak I would ‘ave taken ze time to bathe in some bourbon for you!”

 

Spy is just about ready to rip out the tiny stubble of the giant Sniper’s facial hair when he is suddenly lowered down to a level no one had been yet, to which he mouths a few questions. However, once it clicks his eyes widen and his tune changes. He shouts “Non, No, ahh! Bring me back up! Bring me back up! Don’t put me anywhere near zat disgusting thing!” while he thrashes in the Snipers hand.

 

Of course the bushman doesn’t listen to the Spy and starts to grind the little suited man against his dick. Spy screams like he is being murdered as he’s put against the Sniper’s package, strongly smelling like the Sniper’s musk and faintly like the jarate he loathes so much. This is possibly the worst day of his life, even worse when his first girlfriend dumped him way back when he was just a nerdy teen. He will have to change and shower immediately after this ordeal at best, and shop for a better suit and burn this one and any evidence it existed at worst. He liked this suit too, but if he was going to remember this putrid event he rather not have it.

 

Meanwhile, in the sniper’s stomach, Scout and Demoman have officially slipped into unconsciousness, slowly dying by asphyxiation in the crushed, cramped space between them all. Soldier has moved to a sort of plan B once the space gets too crowded to move his fists any more, attempting to try and crawl deeper down the large bushman’s digestive system and out by natural means. However, he hasn’t accounted for just how tight the Sniper’s duodenum is, and ends up trapped in there with only his head remaining in the Sniper’s stomach; but even this doesn’t offer relief to the mercs.

 

Everyone else is simply moaning and groaning and stretching their limbs out and fighting for space, even Pyro, although the frosting has caused them to become somewhat petrified as the frosting layer closest to their suit has started to harden. Medic has quickly started to lose the novelty of being trapped within someone’s stomach, which isn’t nearly as fun as he thought it would be. Maybe with food or maybe if he got the Sniper bloated to the limit with water or some other liquid that he could go scuba diving in he would enjoy it more, but for now he’s definitely not having fun.

 

Sniper sighs in pleasure, rubbing his stomach with his free hand as he strokes his cock with Spy trapped between his prick and his palm. The texture of his suit on his sensitive skin, the feeling of his little hands slipping in the precome oozing from the tip, listening to his curse and cry and wail in French is all so satisfying. He’s probably giving the little Spy one hell of a rug burn from the friction of his own clothes against his body, especially now that they’re getting wet with his sweat and pre.

 

“You’re gonna taste so good goin’ down,” Sniper growls at the Spy, tipping his head back in pleasure. “Gonna fill me up even more. It’s gettin’ so tight in there, you’re gonna get crushed to death before the acid ever gets to you. I’m so full of the lot of you.”

 

He proves his point by shaking his stomach slightly. A chorus of tiny cries sound from inside as his stomach moves as one mass, too full to jiggle or tremble. He sighs again, smashing Spy’s face into the slit in the tip of his cock with his thumb, rubbing him in there until he feels his teeth bite down to try and get away, but that only serves to flash a tiny bolt of pleasure down his cock and he grinds his hips up against the Spy.

 

Spy can barely handle himself now, so unwound by the events of the day to take a moment and dissociate from what was happening to him. In all his years that he trained in the art and mastered the technique of being a spy, one thing he learned was how to put his mind at a distance from the situation at hand; to retreat to a small place in his mind where only he resided, in the incident that he were to be captured and tortured. He had reached a point where he could use this faithful ability in nearly any degree; from psychological to physiological, to branding his flesh to pulling his teeth, to putting him through week-long water boarding sessions to being treated as a sex slave, there was nothing he couldn’t block out.

 

Except this, apparently. He had no experience like this to draw on and and the only thing he could currently remember that was even remotely similar was... abstract in relation, at best! He had never been shrunk down before, he had never had to work or think under the threat of a giant human about to eat him! And he certainly didn’t have to deal with his face pressed into the slit of a cock so large that he was forced to try and breathe and choke through the vile precome being smeared along his face.

 

When he bites down and is subsequently pressed down even further onto the bushman’s hot flesh a spurt of precome enters down his throat, and he almost pukes right then and there. He has been humiliated by the Sniper beyond what he think could be possible, could possibly be allowed by his contract, but even still Spy is too proud to remove the last vestiges of his dignity.

 

Lifting the Spy, Sniper deposits him directly into his mouth, clothes and all. They don’t taste very good, but the unpleasant flavor is well worth the humiliation he knows the Spy is feeling from having his favorite suit destroyed.

 

Spy gasps and spits for fresh air for the moment when he is finally lifted off the man’s cock, choking down a sob as he wipes off the precome staining and ruining his balaclava. “I hate you.” Spy growls. He’s about to go on a tangent about just how much he hates Sniper at that moment, maybe on how he was actually starting to be able to tolerate the lanky bushman only to have this destroy it, or on how he was going to report this incident to Miss Pauling and get his ass fired, but he gets dropped in the bushman’s mouth and the only sound he manages to make is a quick shout.

 

Now that spy can actually move somewhat out of his own volition he doesn’t pause for a moment to act, using his slimmer physique to travel within the freak’s cheek and past his lips in an attempt at freedom, but the Sniper is quick to catch him between his teeth, then move him around so that he would end up halfway in his mouth and halfway out. The top of his precious suit was already ruined, with several tears and rips thanks to the sniper chewing on it, and it seemed that the sniper decided to try and see if he could get rid of his pants by making it dissolve by the sheer application of saliva by his tongue. Spy kicked his legs and banged on the bushman’s teeth while he swore unrestrained both in his native tongue and in the many others he had picked up on over the years.

 

The real cherry on top was how he was hard. Spy didn’t really want to be, he just... was. Probably due to a combination of adrenaline and the rug burn on his dick sending bloodflow where he didn’t want it. And he knew that no matter what he did the Sniper would find it; his tongue would run across his package bulging if he kept his legs open and if he tried to close up and protect himself it would only notify the sniper of his actions and really start to tease him. There was no way he could win through this, he was at a total loss.

 

Sniper forces his tongue between Spy’s legs, delighting in the way he kicks desperately at his tongue. He tugs his mask off and drops the soggy thing in the Spy’s empty jar, and ruins his hair with a quick swipe of his tongue over his head and face. He feels Spy bite his tongue and he groans in pleasure, resisting the urge to swallow just yet. He’s saved Spy almost for last because he wanted to toy with him the most.

 

His hand drops back down to his cock and strokes there leisurely, picking up speed the more that he flips Spy around in his mouth. When the Frenchman is hanging halfway out his mouth, belly-down on his tongue and clutching his lower canines to avoid the fall down to Sniper’s belly-- or worse, back down to his prick --Sniper ruts his tongue between Spy’s legs and he hears a familiar choked sound.

 

Pressing his tongue there again, harder, he feels Spy tense up and hears him whine, and he knows. His lips spread in a grin and he continues to flick his tongue there, experimenting with pressure as he strokes the Spy’s cock through his expensive, ruined pants.

 

“Gettin’ off on ‘dis?” Sniper says, muffled around Spy’s body between his teeth, and he bites down ever so gently, just to get the Spy whimpering as he flicks his tongue between his legs. “Filthy rat.”

 

Spy’s breaths come out in hisses between furrowed brows and gritted teeth, trying to do all he can to not give the sniper any more indication of his arousal at his situation. It’s harder than one would think it would be; even with all the disgusting things that have happened to him he is still rock hard and the Sniper now focusing the attention of his tongue on his prick pulsing between his thighs has shocks spasming down his legs and back into the pit of his belly, and he can’t even thrust forward to get away from any of it.

 

Even on the outside he can’t do very much other than try to keep his salt stung eyes closed to hide himself away from the full detailed image of the Sniper stroking himself faster as he laves between the Spy’s legs, the sight of the bushman’s ardor and him near his orgasm has the Spy begrudgingly beginning to keel over.

 

The bite that Sniper delivers only serves to rip his clothes even more as well as gasp for air that was crushed out of him by the bushman’s incisors. The rouge repeatedly slams his fist onto Sniper’s coffee-yellowed teeth as he tries to hold himself back from orgasm, repeatedly cursing and flinging hollow insults at him. “Y-you! You backwards-walking bushman! You cheep piss-drinking troglodyte! Traitorous ass-scratching scoundrel! Cheat! AAH!—“

 

A spike of pleasure shoots through Spy, causing him to see white as he makes a garbled attempt to hide the cry that signs that he has ejaculated in his expensive designer slacks.

 

However, the fact that he had cum doesn’t seem to deter the sniper from teasing him further, tearing off his pants with his teeth and overstimulating his cock and causing the exhausted rouge pain.

 

"A-ah... monsieur... arrete... si vou plait..."

 

Sniper pulls the saliva-soaked pants out of his mouth and drops them in the jar with a wet splat. He pulls Spy out of his mouth, pausing in stroking himself to tear off his jacket and shirt and he dumps those in the jar too before dropping him back in his mouth. He’s not done with the Spy yet, he’s going to drive him crazy.

 

He closes his mouth and crushes Spy up against his teeth, forcing his legs to spread around the frenulum of his tongue so he can wiggle it down against his oversensitive cock, and he returns to stroking himself with increased fervor as his he gets closer to his own climax. It’s going to be a doozy, he can tell.

 

Spy is delicious in his mouth, salty and bitter, trembling on his tongue and sobbing with overstimulation. He can feel his tiny hands pushing at his tongue, trying to shove it away, but he’s overtired and humiliated, too exhausted to do anything but beg for mercy.

 

Spy’s mastery of the many romantic languages of the world soon devolves into nothing more than one-worded pleas and swears and a heaping dose of moans and cries, both in a place between pain and pleasure as the Sniper licks his length raw.

 

His upper body flops over upsidedown over the bushman’s teeth as Sniper’s mouth opens, his attempts at hindering his tears only result in them coming out in spurts as his eyes roll up on a particularly over stimulating upstroke that sweeps his voice away. The sight is enough to get an empathetic look from the Heavy, who up until this point has been watching the Sniper with his arms crossed and his expression cold and unreadable.

 

Eventually the Spy gets to a point where he wants to just get the whole ordeal over with, and actually, despite his absolute detest and disgust, wraps his legs around the source of his continued torment and frots himself to a second painful climax that has him wheezing and curling his little toes and fingers.

 

However, he seems to have his wits about him by the time Sniper is at licking and laving him again, and this time Spy has had enough. He gasps, the raspily shouts “Non non non! You are not putting me through zat again!” before he pushes himself down further into the Sniper’s throat and actually starts to crawl down his esophagus himself. He’ll do anything to be done with this, including swallowing the cyanide pill he keeps in his teeth once he gets into the bushman’s overpacked stomach.

 

Sniper chokes in surprise when he suddenly feels Spy pitching himself down his throat. He doesn’t want to be done yet, he had more planned, but in his attempt to gag him back into his mouth, he accidentally swallows reflexively. Feeling Spy suddenly shoot into his throat and stretch it around his shoulders has the Sniper coming with a startled, gurgling shout.

 

Now with the addition of Spy there’s even less air to breathe, and nobody can even make much of a sound when he comes to join their crushing depths. Scout, Soldier and Demo are probably dead, with the rest of the team waiting to similarly fall into asphyxiated unconsciousness to escape the pain of their ribs cracking and pressing into their organs.

 

His stomach expands the extra few inches to fit Spy inside and he moans as it shoots a spike of pain through the packed organ. He milks his cock until the very last wave of pleasure subsides and leaves him feeling content and full with his entire team trapped in his belly.

 

But then he opens his eyes and sees Heavy. That’s right, he has one more to go. The biggest one of all. He moans, rubbing both hands into his overfull belly, bulging and distended in front of him. Most of the squirming has stopped by now, everyone succumbing to the lack of air and the crushing pressure, but nevertheless he already feels so full it hurts. Heavy is the largest of them all, it would practically be like eating a hamburger on top of everything in his stomach-- except he has to swallow that hamburger whole. It would have been a challenge getting him down first even, let alone on top of everyone already packed in his belly.

 

He tucks himself back in his underwear and levers himself up to his fridge again, this time pulling out the butter. If he’s going to get him down, he’s going to need help. He pulls Heavy’s vest and shirt off with no small amount of resistance. If any of them could do him any real damage it would he Heavy, even in his four-and-a-half inch state he’s still fairly strong. He’ll just have to get him down quick, and then he can take a much-needed nap.

 

Stripped nude, he smears butter all over the Russian from head to toe, coating him in the slimy substance so he’ll have an easier time going down, and he lifts him into his mouth. He’s one hell of a mouthful, but he doesn’t have the energy to play with him at this point. He just wants to get him down. So he tips his head back all the way so Heavy plummets to the back of his throat, and he swallows.

 

Heavy is stoic through his whole preparation ordeal, stiff and lifeless as a wooden doll even as he has butter spread all over him. He doesn’t even bother to speak to the man; Sniper doesn’t even deserve words at this point. It’s gone far beyond a loss of respect now, and yet the feelings the Heavy harbors are cooler and colder than what he could say is hate.

 

Maybe it’s some distant twisted form of pity from the fact that Heavy knows that once this ordeal is done and the whole team respawns, this bloated kiwi can hope for a cold reception from his teammates this point on at best. That means that there’d be no one to help him on field, no one to talk to after battle, no invites or jovial behavior around him when he tries to partake in any group activities, whether that be sitting at the mess hall or celebrating after a battle.

 

Maybe, a strong and doubtful maybe, the team would learn to forgive the bushman for his actions and slowly accept him back into the team again, but more likely the team will react hostilely-- many things could happen of which Heavy doesn’t want to think about right now.

 

Once Sniper sucks Heavy into his throat the bear of a man makes his one simple move; to stretch his arms out as far and wide as he can, clinging to whatever crevice of the neck’s walls he could get his buttery fingers on. He knows that there isn’t really any point to escaping now, but he wants to make this last experience as unpleasant as he possibly can for the Sniper, who even with butter helping him has a tough and slow ordeal of swallowing down the large man whole.

 

Eventually, Heavy hips pass a point in the Sniper’s throat where it feels kind of like the folds of a vagina. Decisively, Heavy gets a strong hold on the folds of the Sniper’s vocal chords, pinching and digging his fingers into it and stretching it out with the intention to cause Sniper pain.

 

Sniper gags as pain wrenches down his throat and his stomach tenses up around his team trapped inside. A burp is squeezed up past Heavy and he wails in pain, his voice coming out as a strained gurgle. He swallows again, but Heavy’s grip is too strong in his throat. His neck is bulging far around him, grotesque from the outside, but nobody is left to see him struggle like a snake that gulped down too-large prey.

 

The human throat isn’t really meant to stretch this far, but Sniper isn’t going to give up. He swallows hard, tiredly, feeling lethargic and heavy. He’s having a hard time breathing, choking around the Russian and barely managing to gulp down breath through the cracks between Heavy’s limbs.

 

It’s getting to be too much. He’s going dizzy and a little purple in the face. He knows respawn would pick him up if he choked to death, but how embarrassing, to come so close and then lose all his progress. He slaps and grabs his throat, trying to dislodge the Heavy, swallowing and gulping exhaustedly. The edges of his vision have just started to go black when something slips. Heavy’s foot catches, Sniper’s throat jostles him just right, and then he’s plummeting down.

 

Feeling such a huge lump travel down his throat is such a relief the Sniper feels a throb settle in his spent cock. The bulge is so large it presses his organs out of the way in a painful way, but only for a moment as Heavy descends lower down the tube of his throat. But that relief is short lived, because when Heavy reaches his stomach and is squashed inside, the difference is so large he can see it. He watches his stomach bulge out, he feels his sides ache to contain the last part of his large meal of tiny mercenaries. He whimpers and palms his sore belly, heavy with eight people crammed inside. 

 

“Fuck me,” he sighs, his throat absolutely trashed, but it was worth it. He feels so full and content and satisfied, the achievement alone is something to celebrate. He stands up and wobbles a bit, collecting the jars and lining them on his shelf, a little collection of trophies to mark his success. He looks down and cradles his stuffed gut for a moment, admiring the overfed curve of it, before hauling himself up into his bed and rolling over onto his back to pet his overfull and gurgling belly, and lull himself to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is a second chapter inbound eventually! In which the rest of the team gets revenge on Sniper. So stay tuned for that!


End file.
